Broken Soul
by BloodlinesFan
Summary: ***ACOFAS SPOILERS*** How I think Nesta lost her virginity/maidenhood. Also, an insight into her thoughts and how she is dealing with everything since we didn't get too much of her perspective in ACOFAS.


Nesta had been staring out the window for hours. She only knew that it had been hours because the sun had long since disappeared, and now the moon was her only companion. The old apartment she was in, courtesy of Rhys and Feyre she thought with disdain, was creaking all around her, the wind whistling through, and it would have been a serene and quiet view if it hadn't been for the violent twists of her thoughts.

It was impossible not to hear the creaks in her lodging, and not see, in her mind's eye, her father's neck, snapping, breaking, cutting that thread of his life, and she had been there in front of him with that formidable power brewing in her veins and she had done nothing.

It was Elain, sweet, caring Elain, who grew flowers in gardens, that had taken away his hateful life.

Nesta had realized a long time ago that she was full of ugly, dark things, that her soul was a graveyard full of broken dreams and abandoned love, but she had always tried her damndest to protect Elain from that.

And she had failed.

She could still see the red blood sliding down Elain's hand as she stabbed the King of Hybern with Azriel's Truth-Teller.

Nesta looked down at her own hand, almost expecting to see blood running down it. Sometimes the hallucinations happened randomly, but she hadn't had any today, which she took as a good sign.

She stood from where she had been sitting all morning, and put on a long fur coat over her clothes. She had been wearing these clothes for the past three days, but hadn't had the energy to change or even shower. She still smelled the alcohol in her clothes, in her hair. The scent clung to her skin.

She left the creaking of her apartment, but still carried the sound of her father's neck snapping with her, as she wandered into the town.

Nesta sat at her favorite seat in the pub. The one that was in the farthest corner with the dimmest lighting. She put on her most unwelcoming scowl, which wasn't too hard to do, and sat until the barmaid, Lucinda, came by with a pitcher of her favorite ale.

"You stink worse than the town drunk," she said by way of greeting, nodding her head towards a man slumped over the bar, already snoring.

"And here I thought I had won the title of town drunk already," Nesta said softly, voice devoid of emotion, as she took a chug straight from the pitcher.

Lucinda snorted, walking away with mumbled curses.

It must have been hours as Nesta sat there, staring at just her drinks, taking comfort in all the noise around her that drowned out the thoughts suffocating her.

She was perfectly content, in that silence, until a man approached her. It wasn't the first time a man had appeared before her, all smiles and innuendo, before they realized there wasn't a chance in hell with her.

She looked up, intent on giving him her best "fuck off" expression, but she was caught off guard. Whereas the others were all sunny and bright, this man was dark and scowling.

"Are you the one drinking all my favorite ale?" he asked, his voice rough.

She could only nod mutely.

He grunted, and before she could process it, he had yanked a chair away from the neighboring table and placed it before her, sitting down and drinking her ale.

She didn't say anything, though. She recognized his darkness, that void he was trying to fill, because she had that same void, but no matter what, she could never fill it herself. Not with alcohol, although she tried her best. She studied him, watching as he drank her ale, and he looked all around, like he had been misplaced, but he never looked at her.

They sat quietly, each taking sips from the same bottle.

"What is your name?" He didn't sound as if he particularly cared, more just to fill the silence.

"Doesn't matter," she said, and he shrugged.

He tipped his head back to down the rest of the bottle, and then he stood up. He was surprisingly graceful after having downed almost three bottles since the time he sat down across from her.

He gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement, and began to walk away.

Nesta leaned back in her chair, watching him walk away, before an idea began to take form in her mind. Yes, she had certainly tried many ways to fill that void, but there was still one that she hadn't tried.

It had helped Feyre back when she was human and trying to survive. That Issac boy had helped her release her frustrations and maybe this dark stranger could help Nesta.

Nesta was already out the front door before her mind caught up with her body. She looked around the crowded town, looking at all the gathered people, smiling and bright, and a man selling beautiful dresses caught her eye and smiled, opening his mouth to start his sale, but she looked away. She didn't deserve to wear beautiful dresses. Not with this rotten and ugly soul of hers.

A hand landed upon her shoulder, slightly spinning her around, and she looked at the stranger from the bar. She hadn't noticed in the bar, but his eyes were a dark blue.

His face was expressionless.

"Did you know I would come after you?" she asked, her voice rough and cracked from disuse.

"I expected it." From anyone else, it would have sounded cocky. Not from him, though. His voice was very matter-of-fact, merely pointing out an observation.

Cassian would have definitely made it sound arrogant and cocky, and it would have pissed her off. Or maybe not. This new, hollow Nesta was still a mystery to her.

She shook her head slightly, ridding thoughts of Cassian and hollowness, and focused her attention on the stranger. They were both adults, and they both knew what it was that was going to happen. There didn't need to be discussion of it, nor did they need to know each other's names or thoughts or feelings. There would be no prying.

"My place is past the curve," she said, already walking away. He followed her, and they walked in companionable silence the entire way.

They arrived at her place within moments, and the house seemed mysteriously silent tonight. No groaning or creaking reached her ears as she entered. Maybe the house just liked to torment her when she was alone. She almost laughed at the absurdity of her thoughts.

She didn't bother to play a gracious hostess. She stalked past him into the bedroom, and when she turned, she saw him leaning against the door frame.

She wasn't entirely sure what to say or do in this situation, but she didn't want her inexperience to show. So, without much flourish, she shed her clothes, and held her chin high as she made eye contact with him.

His eyes roamed over her skinny frame, and Nesta couldn't tell if he liked what he saw or not. His expression remained the same.

He began taking off his own shirt, and Nesta figured that meant he did like what he saw.

She shook her head at herself. It didn't matter if they liked anything about each other. They just needed to use each other, and the less they liked and knew about each other, the better off they'd be.

His bare chest was rather spectacular, she noticed in a detached way. He had broad shoulders, and his skin tone was a pleasant brown. He took a step towards her, and she put a hand up, touching his chest, but also stopping him.

She hadn't ever been this close to a man before. Not with her naked, and the male well on his way there. She didn't feel frightened the way she had with that piece of shit human who had tried to scare her into sleeping with him. Nor did she feel intense and out-of-sorts as she did that day Cassian licked her throat. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

No, all she felt as she stared at the bare-chested stranger before her was a deadly sort of calm. She raked her nails across his chest, feeling him flinch a bit. It had been a while since she cut them.

He leaned down, and she looked up, not sure of his intention, until he brought his lips to hers, but she turned her head at the last second, his lips landing on her cheek.

She felt the question before he voiced it.

"Do you want to stop?" He didn't sound pissed or remorseful or even confused.

"No," she said honestly. "I just-I don't want us to kiss as we have se-no kissing while we fuck." Even though she fumbled her words a bit in the beginning, her voice was strong at the end.

"Okay," he said, and even though his tone remained the same, the atmosphere between them suddenly changed. It was no longer calm and polite; something shifted, and Nesta felt a slight shiver.

He had his pants and briefs off in the next second. She saw the length of him, and some small, human part of her recoiled at his sheer size. But she was Fae now, and had endured worse than a well-endowed cock.

So, she walked backwards, holding his hand, until the back of her knees hit her mattress, and she let herself fall. She scurried backwards onto the bed until her head hit the pillows, and the male was on top of her, her legs already spread.

She barely had a second to breathe before he was inside, and even though she knew the first time would hurt, she hadn't expected it to make her scream bloody murder. He stilled inside of her, and she focused on her breathing before opening her eyes.

The stranger was deathly pale. He was staring at her as if she personally was responsible for every single horrible thing that had ever happened in his life.

Her lower body was protesting and bitching at her, but she managed to sway her hips, but he grabbed her thighs with his large hands.

"Stop," he ground out through closed teeth. "Please tell me it wasn't your maidenhood I just broke through."

She rolled her eyes. He dug his hand tighter into her thigh, and she gasped. He loosened his grip, but her gasp hadn't been one of pain. The pain, along with the hard length of him inside of her, created...interesting sensations to blossom throughout her body.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "It's not important to me."

He cocked his head to the side as he studied her, digested her words.

But she didn't feel like talking, not when she felt like she was coming alive for the first time in months.

Too quickly for him to react, she switched their positions, and as soon as she was on top of him, she began to ride him. It still hurt for the first couple of thrusts, but soon the pain gave way to pleasure, and she was riding him hard enough that anyone within a mile could hear their grunts and moans.

He had his fingers digging into her thighs so deeply that she was sure there would be marks there for a while. A dark part of her wanted him to keep digging, to dig all the way until he reached her soul, and ripped through it.

As if he heard her thoughts, he flipped them over until she was flat on her back and pounded into her with a fury. She cried out, the sensation of him slipping in and out of her in such madness caused her thighs to shake. He felt this, and brought her legs up over his shoulders, without losing his rhythm.

She was moaning uncontrollably now, and he was panting as he kept up the furious pace.

"I'm...oh, fuck, I need..."

She knew what he meant, so she just nodded.

He reached down one hand and flicked her hard nipple, an electric bolt going through her entire body at that touch, and he pounded his cock into her one, two, three more times before coming. He came with a grunt, and when he was done, he gently brought her legs down, and she winced at the soreness she could now feel.

She felt thoroughly fucked, but the passion, the wild abandon she had just felt, was already gone. That same hollowness from earlier in the morning returned.

She didn't feel like a changed woman. She didn't feel anything.

He laid down next to her, but she cringed, getting out of bed. She was trying to figure out the words to say to get him out of the house when she noticed the spots of blood on her sheets.

Black silence filled her mind. The blood on her sheets shifted to the blood running down Elain's hand, which then shifted to the crack she had felt when her father's neck had snapped. The creaking of the house, which had been silent before, now returned in full force.

She was staring at the blood when she told him: "Get out."

She couldn't even feel relief that he obeyed without questioning her. He was gone within seconds. She continued staring at that blood spot, that hollow feeling in her chest growing with each second.

Nothing would ever fill that hollowness, she realized. She was always going to feel this emptiness.

This broken thing inside of her couldn't be fixed.

Alcohol and sex didn't work. They worked for a little bit, but unless she planned on drinking and fucking until death, then it was worthless.

She thought of that fateful day when all of her anger, when all of what made her her had disappeared without a trace.

She never told anyone, especially not her sisters, and especially not Cassian, but she had felt the Cauldron break. She had felt it somewhere within her that she had not recognized. That place where she stored all her anger, her burning, molten anger, had shifted. And in that same place, buried beneath all the hate and anger, was the slight spark of hope, of dreams, of a child too badly hurt. The Cauldron broke that day, and something within her had broken as well.

Maybe it had been her soul.


End file.
